Wisdom In The Hidden Places
by MegElemental
Summary: Everything's finally over. Except Dean just can't win. Also know as: the one where they own a B&B in Vermont. Posted on the apocalypse so will probably never get read.


Wisdom In The Hidden Places

(title from the English translation of Miserere Mei Deus)

The air was fresh and cold as Dean trekked slowly up the worn, muddy oath, and the sun was only just beginning to slant through the bare branches of the trees. He pulled the rim of his hat down to save his eyes from the glare, and pushed onwards through the forest.

It was too rustic to be a road – it was more of a dirt track, worn smooth by the multitude of feet the summer tourist trade always brought to town. Now, though, as the last of the leaves began to drift slowly to the ground and the first frosts glistened in the early morning light, Dean was the only one making his way towards the lake.

Shifting the pack hoisted over his shoulder, Dean glanced up at the clear, brightening sky and huffed out a cloudy breath.

'It's going to be a cold one,' he said to himself, watching as the cloud dissipated into the fading dark. 'Always is when there's no cloud.'

The sun was fully up when he'd finally settled down on the small wooden jetty, his fishing gear all set up and his body relaxing into that half-trance needed to stay still enough to lure the fish into a false sense of security. There was an absolute stillness, the pause of wind before a storm, the breath before the pounce, only this was stretched and suspended over minutes, over hours. The quiet was a balm to his ripped, scarred soul.

'Remember when we used to hunt bigger things?' he asked quietly, his breath disturbing the air, creating minute, eddying swirls. 'Now it's just whatever fish is dumb enough to go for the easy lunch.'

The line created faint ripples on the glassy lake – the silence spread.

sssssssssss

'You free for Thanksgiving?' Sam asked, his voice crackling over the line.

'Of course,' Dean scoffed, holding his mobile with one hand while signing in a guest with the other. 'You know I always close for the holiday. There wouldn't be room otherwise.'

'Great,' his brother sighed. 'They're all really looking forward to coming up to visit you.'

'That's because you work them too hard,' Dean reasoned. 'They've got to have fun sometimes. Not everyone can be king of the nerds like you, Sammy.'

'Jerk.'

'Bitch.' Dean glanced up at his guests, an old couple who now looked somewhat affronted. 'Sorry, guys; here's your key.'

'Anyway, when would be a good time? I feel like we haven't seen each other in ages.'

They hadn't – by Dean's count it had been almost six months – but he appreciated how hard it was to move such a large, young family around a couple of states.

'I'm pretty much empty from next weekend till a week after Thanksgiving,' Dean said casually, trying not to sound too keen. 'So it's literally whenever you can make it.'

'Great!' Sam replied enthusiastically.

'And… are you doing anything around Christmas…?' Dean trailed off, aiming for nonchalance but hitting the board somewhere near desperation.

'Ahh,' Sam hissed, sending a rush of static down the line. 'We kind of promised Jen's parents we'd go stay with them for Christmas… but you're welcome to come down and visit for boxing day, or New Year's…'

'I'll see,' Dean said cagily, feeling his heart sink a little. 'I might be booked then. You know business always booms after Christmas, with everyone wanting to try out their new gear.'

'Yeah,' Sam laughed awkwardly along with him for a couple of seconds.

'Sooo…' he said, his tone falsely cheery. 'Catch up in a bit? I'll text when we'll be aiming to head up.'

'Great, yeah,' Dean replied, just before the connection cut off and he was left talking to the empty air.

He stared down at his log book, writing in the names of the couple he'd just signed in to room 14, before typing it into the computer system.

Then he shook himself, dusting away his sudden melancholy, and got on with his jobs.

sssssssss

The knowledge seeped into his brain with a movement reminiscent of a glacier – slow, steady, and inexorable. In a way, he thought he'd always known, but he'd made himself forget.

It was too big for one man, and he'd rightly decided that Dean Winchester was just a man and therefore incapable of the true knowledge of his own self. As he got older, however, he began to remember what he had made himself forget.

The first blinding flash of realisation had, in fact, been what had ended Dean's life, in a way. Dean Winchester had been a man created entirely by life on the road and on the hunt.

After the apocalypse, after the end of days and the beginning of days, he was no longer just Dean Winchester, Hunter. He was Dean Winchester, Saviour.

The title came with the price of knowledge.

Now he thought about it, with the benefit of hindsight, it was ludicrously obvious – vessel of Michael, the _Righteous Man_, destined to kill the devil, to kill _sin_. He'd spent his whole life saving souls. He'd been killed and resurrected more times than he cared to remember, and had always been far too wrapped up in the affairs of angels.

His mother was even called _Mary_, for Christ's sake,

'Or, perhaps, for Winchester's sake,' he said out loud, a smile curving his lips. The words echoed across the water and startled some birds who flew up into the air, cawing their displeasure.

As he grew older, and the cold made its way further into his bones, the knowledge sank down like a weight.

sssssssssssss

Somehow, Sam and his tribe of unruly children could make the B&B seem fuller then when he had no vacancies. That may have been due to the amount of noise the average Winchester child seemed to emit.

'Bobbie! Millie! Davey!' Dean called out happily as the car pulled up onto the gravel drive and parked next to the impala. Two small figures, both of whom had been waving frantically out of the windows, jumped out as soon as the engine growled to a stop and flung themselves at Dean, giggling and squeaking.

'Daddy said you'd take us fishing, Uncle Dean!' Millie said quickly, drawing back and fixing Dean with the kind of stern look only an eight-year-old could give. Dean nodded sagely.

'I will, as soon as you've all recovered from your long journey,' he said, gently untangling Bobbie from his leg. The six-year-old hung on with a dogged determination Dean could only guess she had inherited from her namesake.

'Roberta, let Uncle Dean breathe!' Jen called, as she climbed out of the driver's seat.

'Take the baby,' Sam said, dumping Davey into Dean's arms and taking the hands of his girls, leading them into the B&B. Dean shared a look with Davey, who dribbled slightly.

'Careful when you put him down,' Jen warned, as she popped open the car boot. 'He's off like a shot and impossible to catch.'

'You take him in, I'll get your bags,' Dean offered. Jen relieved him of a rather soggy toddler with a grateful sigh and bustled inside, where bangs and crashes were already issuing from the lounge. Dean rolled his eyes, only to widen them when he saw just how much luggage sat in the back of Sam's behemoth of a vehicle.

ssssssssssss

'I can feel it sometimes,' he said, to the cool, crisp air. 'The divinity, building up behind my eyes like a tumour. Pressing against my brain.'

He twitched his wrist slightly and the brightly coloured float bobbed on the flat water.

'I don't want to leave,' he admitted. 'But I kind of just want it to be over.'

ssssssssssss

There was a peaceful silence as the two brothers sat in front of the crackling fire, both cradling glasses of whisky and enjoying the companionable atmosphere. The air smelt woody and homely, and the small sounds of children getting ready for bed floated down from the bedrooms above.

'Did you ever think we'd manage this?' Sam asked quietly, contentment radiating out from his soft smile. 'Did you ever think, when we were right in the thick of everything, that one day we'd sit by the fire in a house full of our family with Thanksgiving dinner in the fridge, with everything awful behind us and our lives ahead of us? Did you ever think that one day we'd live a normal life without some sort of apocalypse hanging over our heads?'

'No,' Dean said quietly, swirling his drink. 'I never would have thought I'd have opened up a B&B in Vermont.'

Sam laughed, a rich, full-bodied laugh to match the whisky.

'But we're still here,' he said happily, sinking further into his chair. 'Still together.'

Dean nodded, taking a sip from the glass he cradled in his palm, feeling the warmth and happiness flood through him unchecked for once. He ignored the slight throbbing in his temple and the ever-increasing pressure on his right eye, and took the moment for what it was; a perfect slice of time in a life of danger and unhappiness.

A soft cough from the doorway announced the presence of Jen, Sam's beautiful, crazy –in Dean's opinion – wife. Both brothers looked over.

'They're just settling down for a story,' she smiled. 'You'll probably want to go and say goodnight now before they drop off.'

'Gotcha,' Dean said, knocking back the rest of his drink and placing the glass down on a nearby table. He'd clear it up in the morning – tonight, all he needed was a good, long sleep.

He always slept well when his nieces and nephew were staying over, when the air was soft with their quiet snores.

Leaving his brother and Jen in the lounge, Dean crept slowly up the stairs, trying to make as little sound as possible. The children's door was ajar, warm light glowing from inside, and Dean pushed it open silently.

The three of them were all slumped in a heap on Bobbie's bed, their eyes drooping and their heads lolling, while a soft, low voice read from a tattered, well-loved book.

'All through the night the Queen lay awake thinking of a likely name. Meanwhile she sent out all over the country messengers to enquire for rare names. When, next day, the little man appeared, she began with names like Kaspar, Melchior, Balthasar, and continued with a list of all the names she had ever heard.'

Dean crept in slowly, exaggerating his movements like a pantomime villain, and Bobbie was the first to notice. She held in a sleepy giggle and prodded Millie, pointing unsubtly. Dean winked at the two of them and pressed a finger to his lips.

The voice reading the story faltered and stopped, obviously realising the loss of its audience, but Dean pounced just as the dark head turned.

'Dean,' Cas said reproachfully, his voice muffled as his face was pressed into the pillow.

'Quick, guys, scarper, I'll hold him down,' Dean said, amidst a flurry of giggles. Small hands began to bat his head and he ducked and weaved, putting on an injured expression.

'Arrgh… you're too strong for me…' he gargled as Millie and Bobbie wrestled him off Cas, while Davey grabbed the book Cas had dropped in the struggle and began to gnaw happily on a corner.

'I surrender!' Dean yelped as little hands pulled mercilessly at his clothes and hair, and he rolled off the bed with a thump.

'We saved you,' Millie said gravely to Cas, who nodded back just as seriously as Dean lay on the floor, groaning in pretend pain.

'Thank you Melanie, Roberta,' he said. 'And thank you too, David, although I think that book is better read than eaten.' Cas carefully pulled the book from Davey's hands and wiping the wet corner on his own jumper. Davey just grinned and babbled somewhat incoherently – Dean had noticed the little boy hadn't learnt to speak as quickly as his precocious sisters.

'Dean, they are supposed to be getting ready for bed,' Cas chided, looking down at Dean's prone form on the carpet. 'You mustn't make them wild.'

'S'ok,' Dean said, pushing himself back up. 'I just came in to say g'night.'

'Night, Uncle Dean,' the girls chorused, and Dean gave them each a kiss on the cheek and a quick hair-ruffle. Davey waved chubby hands at him, and Dean gave him a rushed one-armed hug before beating a hasty retreat.

Cas found him later perched on the end of his bed, cradling his head in his hands.

'You should have told me it was hurting,' Cas said firmly, kneeling in front of Dean and lifting his head. The cool hands pressed against his temples relieved the heavy pain somewhat and Dean sighed in relief.

'It's not too bad,' he protested, 'and I didn't want to bother Sam.'

'He's your brother.'

'He's got more important things to worry about.'

Cas sighed the heavy sigh of someone dealing with a very stupid person.

'You and I both know what you just said is completely untrue, Dean.'

Dean leant forward and gave Cas a quick peck on the lips. 'I know,' he said. 'I'm just tired.'

Cas' lips quirked slightly.

'Would you like me to read you Rumplestiltskin too?' he asked. Dean gave a surprised laugh.

'No, I'm fine with just a goodnight kiss,' he smiled, pulling Cas close again.

That night the pain receded somewhat, and as he lay in his soft bed with the warm weigh of Castiel dipping the mattress behind him and the sound of his brother's and various offspring's snoring vibrating the walls, Dean felt completely and utterly happy.

sssssssssss

With each year, the pain grew perceptibly stronger, until even the strongest over-the-counter pain medication refused to even make a dent in it. Eventually, Cas' hands and Sam's presence became the only balms to the constant pressure on his skull, and even the effects of those began to fade with time.

Dean hated feeling so old.

When the pain was particularly bad, Dean became short and irritable with almost everyone, the small skeleton staff he'd hired at his B&B, Sam and the kids when they came to visit (although the visits were few and far between once the children started going to school and having proper lives of their own).

Cas usually took the brunt of Dean's grumpiness, and he bore it stoically, but even the steadiest rock can be eventually eroded by the sea.

This particular time Dean had found fault in the way Cas had entered a booking into the computer – a stupid, silly quarrel which escalated without much difficulty into a full-blown argument.

For the first time in years, halfway through Dean's yelling, Cas vanished with a rustle of feathers.

Dean was left staring at the empty space where Cas had been, the anger flowing from him to be quickly replaced by guilt and panic.

Cas didn't return for a week, during which Dean almost worried himself to death, wondering whether he'd finally succeeded in pushing him away forever. When the angel finally returned, appearing behind Dean's shoulder as he fished quietly at his favourite spot, they had simply sat together in companionable silence.

Neither said anything apologetic – there was nothing to forgive.

ssssssssss

Dean played idly with a small dark curl on Castiel's forehead, as they lay in the dim half-light of the rising sun.

'You persist in stealing all the covers,' Cas said without opening his eyes, 'and in waking me up early.'

'You don't even need to sleep,' Dean pointed out.

'I enjoy dreaming.'

'Why dream when you can have the real thing?'

Cas rolled his eyes beneath his eyelids and huffed. Dean just rolled closer to the prone angel, bringing back the warmth of the cover.

'As much as I'd like to lie in today,' he said, running light, teasing fingers down Cas' chest, 'we need to get up and run this place.'

'I doubt it will fall apart if we are not there for another couple of hours,' Cas said, his eyes still closed as he arched into Dean's touch.

'Yeah, well,' Dean said, drawing away and sliding out of bed. 'I'm getting up. But you're welcome to join me in the shower.'

Cas beat him to the bathroom.

sssssssss

'_Your body was never meant to be a permanent vessel,' Cas explained gravely as Dean poked gingerly at his forehead._

'_Yeah, well, last time I only managed to make it thirty years or so before the romans got me,' he said, wincing, 'so I suppose this is a personal best.'_

'_You should not joke about this,' Cas said, his voice pained, and Dean looked up in surprise._

'_Just how serious is this?'_

'_For an angel to take a vessel – even an archangel – a body will suffice. Of course, it has to be the right bloodline, the right body – but it will survive despite the immense power it holds.'_

'_Let me guess – even though this is my own vessel I don't get a full-life guarantee.' Dean groaned. 'Why can we never win? There's always something.'_

'_Your incredible power and divinity is, of course, weak in this form, but it is starting to return. The apocalypse was the catalyst.'_

'_And now I'm a ticking time bomb.' Dean gave a deep, world-weary sigh. 'How long have I got, Doc?'_

'_It's hard to say,' Cas said, and he sounded rather upset. 'I would hasten to guess at not long. Not very long at all.'_

'_I'll go to Heaven, though, right?' Dean said._

'_Well… yes and no.'_

'_Wait; don't tell me,' Dean held up a hand. 'I'd rather not know.'_

'_We can deal with that when we get there,' Cas agreed, and Dean felt a strange shiver run through him at the way Cas used the word 'we'._

'_So, what should I do in the meantime?' he asked, getting up and stretching. Cas watched unabashedly as his t-shirt rose to reveal a small strip of skin above the waistline of his jeans._

'_Live,' Cas said, a strange sort of earnest fire burning in his eyes. _

'_Well, since Sam's gonna be busy with the new love of his life,' Dean said, putting a hand on Cas' shoulder, 'how about we get that B&B in Vermont?'_

sssssssss

Dean had driven north until he hit Canada, and then he headed south a little way until he hit Newport. And there he stayed.

Cas joined him not long after.

sssssssssss

'What _is _that…thing? And what is it doing next to my baby?'

'Look, it's the only car we could get to fit three kids and a house load of luggage in,' Sam said, grinning. 'Although another reason to buy it might have been the pain I knew it would cause you –'

Dean punched his brother not so gently on the shoulder.

'You're bringing the standards of my establishment down by parking that monstrosity outside,' he complained.

'Don't you do that, all by yourself? Why people want to stay in a B&B run by you is beyond even my imagination.'

'I imagine I have a great deal to do with our general success,' Cas said in a brilliant deadpan that had Sam laughing loudly at Dean's expense.

Dean got his own back later by spray-painting Sam's hubcaps pink.

sssssssss

It had been an almost perfect day.

Dean had woken up in the morning, warm and comfortable, wrapped in Castiel's arms. He'd had a long, hot shower, a surprise bout of morning sex, and another, shorter, shower, before heading down to work on the impala.

The car was seriously old, now, and Dean doubted there was a single original piece of metal on her frame. Still, she was the same car in essence and they'd been through a lot together.

'You look better than me, old girl,' he told her softly, running a hand though his greying hair.

He'd helped Cas with the late breakfasters and had chatted pleasantly with some guests, giving them advice on where to fish, and where to take the best walks. He'd spent an hour with Cas just sitting and watching television, before having a quick lunch and gathering his things for a trip to the lake.

Even his headache abated for a while, leaving him feeling better than he had in months.

The lake was quiet, as it always was – too far a trek for the beginners, too limited in fish size for the experts – and Dean spent a golden afternoon watching his float bob in the small, faint wind ripples.

He felt so peaceful, so relaxed and calm, that he should have known something was up.

He began to pack up his equipment just as the sun slipped beneath the tree horizon. Halfway through folding up his chair his head flared with pain and he dropped to one knee with a grunt.

'No,' he groaned, his eyes pressed tightly shut. Pain sparked and crashed behind his eyes as he grimaced and forced himself back to his feet. 'No, not yet. Not now. I've got to say goodbye.'

The pain built into an avalanche, a crescendo, and Dean was forced to his knees again through the sheer weight of it.

'Please,' he muttered into the silence. 'Just one more day.'

He would drive the impala down to Sam's house, give his brother a hug, give his brother's kids a kiss on the cheek and a word of advice. Then he'd drive to a motel with Cas and check in, like the old days, and they'd have one more night before he had to leave.

'Please,' he said again, his voice cracking. Tears began to slide down his cheeks, squeezed from between his closed eyelids.

_I gave you twenty years, Son, and you used them well. Now I have work for you._

The agony was indescribable now, blazing into every nerve ending and ripping him apart atom by atom. Dean collapsed into a ball, unashamedly weeping.

And then the world exploded into light.

sssssssss

The first thing he became aware of was his body. Or rather, his lack of. What had Cas said once? 'A multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent'?

Dean rolled that around his new, pain-free head. Yeah, that would do.

But Dean? That wasn't quite right anymore. That was who he was, but not all of who he was. He was many things, all at once, like that bagel pretending to be a pizza he'd had one time at a diner near Vermont.

The Son? Jesus Christ?

None of those felt right either. They described a part of him, but he was much more than just the sum of his parts. He was something other.

He was himself.

He became aware of another, close beside him. He had never seen – or felt, or heard – this entity before, but he knew it.

_Castiel._

_Dean._

When Castiel said his name, it fit.

'I thought I would die,' he admitted, sliding into human speech out of habit.

'You did,' Cas said. 'But you are reborn in Heaven. And I have been permitted to stay by your side.'

Dean felt a surge of courage.

'Sam?'

'He will join us eventually. You can raise him to majesty, if you wish. Or you can spend time with him in his Heaven. Our Father gave you the power of choice, Dean. You are free to do whatever you choose.'

'For now, I choose to wait. With you.'

The being that was Castiel appeared to smile.

'I was hoping for that.'

sssssssssss


End file.
